To Strangle a Heart
by CrimsonLink
Summary: When Russia accidentally forgets his scarf in the conference room, America, being the hero that he is, takes it upon himself to return it. He expects a "thank you", at the very least. But they are in the midst of a Cold War, and Russia intends to give the American more than what he bargained for. RusAme. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: Rated M for cursing, yaoi A.K.A. boyxboy, sexual innuendos, noncon (not in this chapter), illegal use of drugs, and overall just not-niceness. Please read at your own risk. If you think you can't handle any of the above topics, you are always welcome to hit the back button. Flames are not tolerated here, but concrits and nice reviews are~ Also, I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

**I am not in any way trying to offend anyone, especially any of you Russians out there reading this story! The characters' actions don't in any way reflect my true feelings toward their countries in real life. And honestly? I've always wished I could go visit Moscow. IT LOOKS SO COOL, DUDE! AND RUSSIAN ACCENTS ARE THE TOTAL SHIZ! (Seriously though. My American accent is so boring...)**

**I should probably tell you that this story takes place somewhere during the late 1960's. Ish. Just know that we are in the midst of the Cold War, and you'll be A-okay.**

**Enjoy!~**

_**To Strangle a Heart, part 1**_

* * *

_x_

"Shut up, you narcissistic git!"

"I was only trying to help! You should be kissing my _magnifique _feet for even bothering to assist you."

"Well, we failed anyways! And I will do _nothing _of the sort!"

Across the table a blond-haired, blue-eyed male sprang to his feet, excited by this sudden change of events. A world conference was currently taking place in London, and just seconds ago Alfred F. Jones had been _bored out of his mind. _England was discussing some new trade policy, and everyone had been taking notes—well, America was really just doodling on the table, but that wasn't the point—when France had suddenly stood up, accusing England of being a "Trojan Whore", or something to that effect.

That had caught America's attention. _Huh? Condoms and prostitutes? _He and the other countries watched as France and England bickered back and forth, somehow managing to get onto the topic of a Spez—or was it Swez?-canal*. This brought forth more fighting.

Anyways, now the two were at each other's throats, which as usual sparked insanity in the conference room. Spain and China were trying to break the two apart while Japan just stood off to the side, not sure if he should interfere; Italy was screaming nonsense while Romano struggled to cover his mouth; the Nordics were betting on who would be the first to get a bloody nose; Greece was still sleeping; Russia just calmly sat at the table, a small smile gracing his seemingly innocent face;

And, as usual, America was laughing his ass off. Now _this _was fun! So much better than doodling or trying to pay attention to that boring meeting. "HAHAHA! You guys are killin' me!" he exclaimed.

At the other end of the table, a very tall, irritated blond man stood up and angrily slammed his hands onto the table. "EVERYBODY SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS _NONSENSE_!"

The room got quiet in an instant. Everyone standing up sulked back to their seats, avoiding eye contact with the furious Germany.

No one messed with Germany. Even after WWII had ended and his country was in bad shape, Ludwig was still an intimidating man whom not many would stand up to. He even still held control over the conferences—that is, as much control as one could have with such a chaotic group.

"Now," he continued once everyone was sitting, "I think we've had enough fighting for today. Everyone will go back to their hotels, and then we will meet again in a week. I think we all need to take a few days to clear our heads. England and France," he barked sharply, "You two need to sort things out. I will not tolerate these antics again."

A murmur of agreement rippled across the room, and soon everyone began collecting their papers and belongings. Pretty soon the nations were filing out at a moderate pace, some walking in groups to chat. America watched from his seat as the room began to clear out then hastily began to erase the doodles he'd drawn onto the table, hopefully before England noticed. If he did, America was sure he'd have to sit through an hour of "You bloody idiot" and "Don't damage my property".

Unfortunately he only managed to clear away a few of the stick figures before England headed over to him. The blond quickly grabbed his messy note papers and shoved them into his briefcase in hopes that he wouldn't look suspicious.

"Hey, America, what's taking you so long?" England asked, stopping in front of the other.

Alfred looked up at him and got up out of the chair, nearly tripping over the legs in the process. _Way to be smooth, Al. _"Uh, nothing! I was uh, just going over the notes and stuff again before I left. Yeah."

Why did he have to be such a terrible liar? He could tell that England didn't buy it for one second, but he tried to play it cool and let out a huge grin. Maybe he could just discreetly change the subject and avoid everything like one of those cool Japanese ninja dudes in the movies. "…So I'm _really_ hungry. I think I'ma go get a burger. The hero's gotta eat, you know!" He patted his stomach enthusiastically.

England raised an eyebrow and sighed. "If you're going to change the subject, don't make it so obvious next time. Lucky for you, however, I'm not in the mood to force the truth out of you, seeing as I've already lost all my energy fighting that girly-haired wanker today."

America laughed at that. "Oh yeah, that was so funny dude! It _totally_ made it worth going to the meeting for once! You guys should really s—"

A strong force suddenly knocked America off balance, effectively cutting him off and sending him stumbling forward. The blond lost grip of his suitcase and watched helplessly as it crashed into the ground, springing open and scattering papers every which way. England, however, managed to catch the American before he, too, hit the floor.

Alfred lay there in the British man's hold, his head spinning. _What the heck? Who did th—_

"Russia, if you're trying to prevent war, next time I suggest that you _not _intentionally shove America." England glared as he placed the young nation back on his feet. At the sound of that name, the blond turned on his heel to face the Russian, who was walking out the door as if nothing happened.

But then he stopped, craning his head in the general direction of the other two countries, but not directly looking at them. "Ah, forgive me. I did not see you there, Amerika." And with that he disappeared behind the large double-doors, leaving the two alone to stare after him.

America fixed his glasses which had gone askew. He then proceeded to collect the papers that had flown out of his briefcase, using any and all resistance he had to not chase after Russia and punch his lights out. "Stupid commie…" he spat under his breath.

England sighed and knelt down to help the blond. "What is it with you two lately? You're always on edge whenever he's near you. Ever since World War II ended…"

Grabbing the last of the sheets, America stood up and frowned slightly. "'Dunno, I guess he just hates my guts—well, not that I like him either, really. We never agree on anything." He dusted his pants off and watched as the Englishman scrutinized him, most likely searching for more to that answer.

After a few seconds the other shook his head. "Hmm. Well, you must excuse me, for I have some business I need to discuss with my boss urgently. I'll see you around, yes?"

America nodded. He needed to go back to his hotel, take a nap, and then maybe get some snacks. "'Kay, bye. And um, thanks for the help. …Not that the hero needed it, of course!" He waved energetically, his irritability already starting to wear off. There was really no point in lingering on the bad things in life, right?

The other rolled his eyes as he headed out into the hallway. Once the man disappeared from his sight, America picked up his briefcase and began walking in the same direction. Just as he was about to twist the doorknob, though, something interesting caught his eye. It was a chair—more specifically, the chair of a certain tall, platinum-haired nation who sat at the opposite end of the conference room. Curiously, the young male set down his items and strode over to the item in question. When he reached it, he stared in both confusion and shock.

Sitting on the chair was a scarf. A soft, light grey scarf. Russia's scarf. The scarf Russia _always _wore. The scarf that _nobody had seen Russia without_.

_Isn't this thing, like, his most prized possession? _America wondered, picking up the item and examining it closer. _Why would he just leave it here—actually, why would he even take it off in the first place? Why didn't I notice he wasn't wearing it before?_

And yet, America already knew the answer to that last question. He had been far too upset about being pushed over to notice, let alone care. But as for the rest, Alfred F. Jones was completely clueless.

"Maybe he left it on accident…?" The blond muttered aloud. "Maybe I should go give it back to him…"

But why should he have to go out of his way to help the commie, _especially_ after the man had deliberately knocked him over? _No. _It wasn't worth it. He would let the bastard figure out himself, and then he would have to drive all the way back here to get it. It wasn't America's responsibility to play the retriever here!

_But… I'm the hero, right?_

A hero _helped_ people, resolved problems when others could or would not. Plus, if America brought the scarf back, then Russia would _have_ to acknowledge that he had helped him! And then when they disagreed again, America could say, "Oh yeah? Well remember that time when I saved you from losing your most prized possession?" Russia wouldn't know what to do.

"Yeah…" He whispered, a smile quickly starting to spread on his lips, "I'll show him!" He eagerly grabbed the grey material and bounced back to the double doors, retrieving his suitcase before dashing out into the hallway.

_I wonder if he's still near the building, or if he's already on the way back to his hotel. He did leave in kind of a hurry... _America paced down the elongated room until he finally reached the exit door. He waved to some of the countries who were hanging out next to the edge of the building, then stepped outside.

As usual, the London weather was very gloomy today; the sky was overcast with dark grey clouds, and a heavy fog hung in the air as if it were waiting to see something exciting happen. It also occurred to the young man that it was drizzling rain when a drop splashed on the tip of his nose. Peering through the haze, America attempted to locate the sleek limo decorated with a Soviet flag on the tail. He thought he saw it at the far end of the enormous lot, but quickly realized it was France's…

…For the man climbing aboard suddenly flipped his hair, something Russia wouldn't be caught dead doing (and to be honest, neither would America, nor most of the other male nations).

Much to his chagrin, the young man could find neither the plane nor the person he was looking for. He frowned. He was almost certain that Russia was already halfway back to the hotel. Just how was America supposed to reach him now? Due to political tenseness and such, he had been ordered by his boss to delete the man's number from his phonebook and cut off all contacts between them. He couldn't even call him!

Just as this realization passed through America's mind, a slightly shorter, green-eyed man came charging through the exit doors. He zeroed in on Alfred and roughly grabbed the collar of his bomber jacket. "You stupid git! Why did you go and draw on my _very _expensive mahogany table?! That's the fourth time this past season! Are you five years old, or something? Could you _SERIOUSLY _not keep your hands on your own property for a four hour meeting? Alfred, I swear I'm going to take your head and beat it into the ground if you keep up these ridiculous anti—"

"—Yeah, yeah, sorry 'bout that dude I was just really bored and I can't stand drawing on lined paper 'cause it ruins the pictures, aaannnd you do have Russia's phone number?"

The Brit stared with his mouth partly open, completely taken aback by this response. "Wait, what?"

America sighed exasperatedly. "Aw come on, you heard me. I said, do you have Russia's phone number?"

"…Why do you ask?"

"Well, _duh, _I need to call him, obviously. He left something behind at the meeting, and I wanna return it to him."

It was then that Arthur Kirkland noticed the peculiar article of cloth wrapped in the American's hands. "His scarf…?" England furrowed his prominent brows and quickly put two and two together before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "America, don't you think it's a bit, well, _odd_ that Russia would be so careless as to leave something like this behind?"

America shrugged. "I dunno, maybe he was thinking about something else and just wasn't paying attention. I know I do that all the time!"

England wasn't fazed by the other's reply, instead taking a step forward and placing one hand on the other's shoulder and another flat against his own forehead. "Alfred, that's just because you're a forgetful idiot. But Russia's not like that—both you and I know that very well. The fact that he would leave his most prized possession behind, for _you_ of all people to notice… It doesn't sit right with me. It's almost as if he _wanted _you to find it."

"HAH! That's real funny, England! Why would he want _me _to find it? He hates me, you know that!" America playfully jabbed the other in the chest with his elbow.

The shorter nation looked aside, staring at the small droplets hitting lightly against the pavement. "I know."

America stared at the Englishman for a split second with confusion, but quickly shook it off. He cleared his throat and grinned cheekily again. "So, can ya give me his number or not?"

England looked back at America's bright blue eyes, sighing in defeat. "Yes I can. But I still can't help but feel uneasy about all of this." He beckoned the other to follow and led him back inside to a black telephone in a side office. The taller blond waited impatiently as England picked up the receiver and dialed the number.

After a few seconds more the British man handed over his phone, and when America held it up to his ear he heard a monotone ringing. Then there was a beep, and a bit of scuffling was heard from the other side of the connection.

"Да? What can I do for you, England?"

Alfred felt his mood drop significantly just from the sound of the others' voice. Despite that, he told himself he was going to do this. It _would_ be worth it in the end, after all.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, this is America—I'm just borrowing England's phone. Sup, man."

For a split second the only thing he could hear was the sound of Russia's breaths ghosting over the device. "Ah, Amerika. I cannot say I am not surprised. Why did you call me?"

America's mouth dropped open. "You _seriously_ haven't noticed it yet!?" He shared a glance with England, who was watching intently.

"Noticed what?"

The undertone of Russia's voice was unnerving—dangerous, even—and America unconsciously shivered. He took a breath to recompose before continuing. "Well…you left your scarf here. At the conference room. I thought you would have realized it was missing by now!"

Russia let out a sharp gasp, and there was suddenly a ton of static and movement in the background. After a few seconds the noises stopped abruptly when the man presumably picked the phone back up. "Oh no! I did not realize I had left it back there! I wear it so much that I automatically assumed I still had it."

America shooed England away when the man started poking him and asking what was happening. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Well I have your scarf with me now, so can you give me your hotel address so I can bring it over?"

"Would you please? That's very kind. Thank you, _Alfredka_." He then gave out the direction to the hotel, as well as the floor and room number.

America's eye twitched at the pet name. It made him sick to his stomach when Russia called him that; he said it so sweetly, so _innocently_, yet at the same time America knew it was just bullshit. He used to call the blond that when they had been closer, but now he was sure it was just being used as an insult.

"'Kay, I'll be there in about 20 minutes. Bye." America placed the phone back into its place before turning to England, who was watching anxiously.

"You're actually going to go there? To see Russia?"

America nodded curtly. "Yep. A hero's gotta do what he's gotta do!" He turned around and strode out of the office, leaving behind a very bewildered England to gawk after him.

_x_

* * *

_x_

America took a deep breath before knocking on the door to Room Number 66. He had originally told the Russian that he would be here in about 20 minutes, but after forgetting where he put his car keys, then getting lost on the confusing London streets, and finally walking all the way to the top floor of the hotel only to find that Russia's room was in the next building, America ended up taking an hour. He hoped that the freakishly tall man wouldn't be _too_ upset.

The wooden door opened slightly, revealing a pair of icy amethyst eyes. "Привет, Amerika~!" Russia greeted, "It is about time. Come inside, please." The door was swung open fully, and America anxiously stepped past the other and into the room.

America took a sweeping glance at his environment. It appeared to be a luxury suite, for there were three distinct rooms. There was a huge king-sized bed and light beige sofa up against the left wall, and separating the two was a nightstand with a radio and telephone on top. In front of the couch was a glass coffee table, and in front of that a large TV. There was also a small entryway on America's right that presumably led to a small bathroom. To the right side of the large room was a kitchen with a small refrigerator, sink, and double-burner stove. On the farthest side of the room next to the bed were two glass sliding doors that led to a balcony outlooking London. Maroon curtains hung on either side of their frames, completing the look.

The blonde whistled softly as he took all of it in. "Some hotel room this is, huh?' He fidgeted with the scarf in his hand. This whole ordeal was very uncomfortable for him, seeing as how usually America's encounters with the Russian were _unfriendly_, to say the least. But Alfred kept telling himself that this would all be worth it when Ivan somehow got into trouble and was forced to come to him for help.

"It is, Да? My boss made sure to reserve the very best for my trip here. It helps me to forget how sad and gloomy it is here compared to back home." He smiled sweetly—so sweetly, in fact, that America found it sickening.

_Arrogant jerk. Sure, it's rainy here, but that doesn't mean he should go around insulting Arthur's country!_ America had had just about enough. Turning to the Russian, he extended his hand which held the prized scarf, trying his best not to make a face of disgust.

The taller man slid the material out of the other's hand. "Oh, thank you so much. I cannot imagine what I would do without this." He carefully wrapped the scarf back around his neck, his lips upturning ever so slightly more.

America nodded at once, the deed being done. He immediately turned to leave. "Well, I guess I'll be going n—"

"—Not so fast!" The blond was halted midstep when his upper arm was grabbed, nearly knocking him off balance as the Russian jerked him back inside the doorframe.

America attempted to wriggle his arm out of the other's grasp, but he only succeeded in making the other tighten his grip to the point that it felt like the circulation was getting cut off. "…What?"

Russia smiled, half-dragging the confused nation and plopping him down on the beige sofa. "I cannot just let you go without thanking you for being so nice. The least I can do is give you some food, or alcohol maybe." He released America's arm and strode over to the door. Digging a key out of his pocket, he then closed the door and secured the lock. Russia dropped the key back into his enormous overcoat and headed across the hotel room in search of his favorite drink.

America sighed quietly, sinking into the cushions. He hadn't expected Russia to ask him to stay—or rather, force, seeing as he couldn't open the door thanks to that damned key—and he didn't dare try to escape now. Even though America was a very bold person, he knew better than to test Russia's limits. It was simply too dangerous, even for the Hero himself…

_Dammit! Since he's offering me food and drinks as thanks, I can't hold anything against him in the future… This whole "scarf" thing was totally pointless, and now I'm stuck here with creepy Russia until further notice. Fantastic. _

"You do like vodka, right?" came said person's voice from the kitchen. He had been searching around in the refrigerator for the past minute or so, shuffling things around and completely blocking Alfred's view of the inside. Once he found what he was looking for, he made his way back to the anxious American. "The hotel did not provide shot glasses; I hope you do not mind using this."

The platinum-blond set a mostly full bottle of vodka and another glass on the table, settling next to America on the couch. In turn, America tried to subtly scoot as far away as possible.

Russia noticed this and slid closer, trapping the other between the armrest and himself. "Amerika, there is no need to be so cold. I understand we have not been on the best terms lately, but I have realized that you are not so bad. You kindly brought me my scarf, after all. …I think I would like for us to become friends. So please, have some drink and we can talk." He pushed the vodka-filled glass into the other's hands and took a swig from his bottle.

_Wait, what? _Alfred stared in shock at the large nation before him. _Does he really mean that…? _He fidgeted with his drink and ran the words over and over in his head. _I mean, now that I think about it… I kind of hope he does. _

"Really? Friends?" Biting his lip he continued to observe, albeit this time with a glimmer of hope.

"Да. I do not wish for us to be so hostile anymore." Ivan had a faint smile on his face, but this time it didn't make Alfred want to puke. It seemed almost…genuine.

_Friends with Russia…_

As he let those words sink in, America realized he'd been staring at Russia for so long that he was starting to feel awkward. He glanced to the side in embarrassment, but at the same time his lips curved up slightly.

_Yeah! That sounds…nice. This Cold War thing is pretty stupid, anyway. Screw it._

As the Russian took another swig from his bottle, America looked down at his glass. He had never particularly liked vodka; it was too strong and not sweet enough. America liked sweet things, such as candy and…well, _candy_. But regardless, he raised it to his lips and took a nice, long sip. The alcohol stung as it slipped down his throat and made him grimace, but in a few seconds America felt a pleasant warmth tickling his stomach. He took another sip before setting the glass on the coffee table. He then turned back to Russia, who had already consumed nearly half of the bottle.

The American glanced from his glass to the bottle in the other's hand, and did it again. A question formulated itself as he continued to look back and forth between the two. "Hey…Ru—I mean, Ivan?"

The taller male paused before setting the alcohol down. "Hmm?"

"Just curious…why did you give only me a glass? There's no way you could drink all that by yourself, right?" America knew if he himself consumed that much vodka, he'd be passed out by now.

Russia laughed lightheartedly. "Silly you. Of _course_ I can! I'm Russian, am I not?"

America snorted. "I guess s—"

"Oh, and it's also to make sure I would not accidentally drug myself." He laughed again, this time a bit louder.

…

…

…

"Drug?" The blond looked at the Russian quizzically for several long seconds. "What drug…"

And then it hit him. America's eyes traveled down to his half-empty glass of alcohol, suddenly feeling sickened by that fuzzy warmth. His eyes widened in realization.

"You…you tricked me!" He shot up from his seat on the couch, banging his shin against the table. "No…I don't understand!" As he stood there, his legs began to feel as if they were being dragged into the ground, and with each second that passed, the force grew stronger and stronger.

Russia stood up too, his childish smile never leaving his face. "What is there not to understand? You are my enemy."

America's vision was swimming with black and green dots, and the world around him was quickly blurring into a blob of colors. His legs screamed in protest as he stumbled backwards, his shaking hands blindly searching for the door to the hotel hallway. "You…bastard…I-I thought…you wanted to be…friends!" He couldn't believe it. How could he be stupid enough to trust _Russia_? He should have listened to England when he had the chance!

"_Friends?_" Russia giggled, continuously stepping forward. "I could never be friends with a capitalist Шлюха."

_I have to get… out of here! _Much to his dismay, America's legs finally failed him, and he collapsed against the wall. He gasped and attempted to stand back up, but it was useless. With the last of his strength he outstretched his arm for the doorknob, sweaty palms slipping against the cold metal. But the knob wouldn't twist no matter how hard he tried.

_That's right…locked… _"Sh…it…" the younger male mumbled, his foggy mind dimly recognizing the key dangling from the Russian's fingertips. He struggled to keep his heavy eyes open.

Ivan crouched in front of the drugged figure, allowing his long index finger to poke the tip of the other's nose. America shot a weak glare at him and tried to throw a punch; his wrist was caught before it came even close to the Russian's face. He swallowed heavily, eyes only half-lidded now as he continued to fight against the overwhelming urge to sleep.

"Ah-ah-ah," Russia taunted condescendingly as he captured the American's wrist. He leaned forward, brushing his cool lips against his victim's ear. "You are not going anywhere. _You are mine now, Alfredka._"

Those haunting words sent a shiver down America's spine. Sapped of all energy, his eyelids finally fluttered closed.

And try as he might, he could not escape the suffocating darkness that followed.

_x_

* * *

_** To be Continued in part 2**_

**Translations (in order of appearance): **

_Magnifique_ = mahnifeek = Magnificent/beautiful

Да = Da= Yes

Привет = Privyet = Hello/hi

Шлюха = Shl'uha = whore (Don't use this word at home, kids! Although I doubt many kids will read this in the first place… xD)

***A/Ns to anyone vaguely interested: **What America meant to say was the Suez Canal, referring to the Suez Crisis of 1956. What basically happened was Egypt decided to claim the canal as its own without British consent (who owned shares of it). England, with the help of France, then tried to attack Egypt and take back the canal, but in the end they didn't succeed.

When America heard "Trojan Whores" (lol), what France actually said was "Trojan Horse" (a giant horse disguised as a gift that helped take down an entire city). This relates to another incident that happened in the 1960's which involved trade between European countries. When England tried to join in on the European Economic Community (EEC), France vetoed the application and basically said, "This ain't gonna happen as long as stupid England is here." France believed that England was just using EEC as a cover-up for trying to get closer trade relations with the US instead of the rest of Europe (thus relating to the "Trojan Horse"). And _no_, America, he was not talking about condoms or prostitutes XD

**If you were too lazy to read all that, then in short, England and France are just two nincompoops looking for any excuse to argue. And also, I did my homework :P**

**So yeah! I originally wasn't going to have this story split into 2 sections, but once the oneshot hit around the 7,000 word mark I was like, "okay, this is waayyy too long for my tastes". And plus, it proves that I haven't been sitting on my butt for the past few weeks. I already have most of the second chapter done, so it shouldn't take too terribly long to finish. Then I will resume my other work-in-progress, Chasing the Darkness.**

**But until then, ciao~!**


	2. Chapter 2

**EDIT JUNE 10, 2013: Sorry for spamming any of my followers' email inboxes! I accidentally clicked the wrong button and deleted chapter 2 instead of replacing it. I only meant to fix some errors... sorry again. ^^;****  
**

**WARNING: ****There is nonconsensual sex in this chapter!**** Please read at your own risk. If you think you can't handle reading the topics in this story, you are always welcome to hit the back button. Flames are not tolerated here, but concrits and nice reviews are~ Also, I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

**Shoutout to blueorgray1236 for reviewing last chapter! :D**

**Enjoy!~**

_**To Strangle a Heart, part 2**_

* * *

_x_

"Ugh…." Alfred awoke to the feeling of extremely sore arms. Dazed, he blearily opened his eyes and blinked rapidly to see clearer. He quickly realized that he was not wearing his glasses, for his nearsightedness prevented him from seeing much farther than four feet away. Despite this, the American tried to distinguish things the best he could.

He was lying on his back in a king-sized bed. As he looked around him, America realized that he was in some kind of fancy hotel suite. What appeared to be his bomber jacket, along with his shoes, socks, and glasses, was tossed carelessly on the floor. He also noted that it was nighttime from looking out the glass doors that led to the balcony.

"What…am I doing here?" He mumbled softly. A dull headache pounded in his forehead, and he groaned.

It all came rushing back at once. The scarf, the hotel room, the vodka...

…And the look on Russia's face as America collapsed.

_Shit! I need to escape! _With a guttural cry the young nation lurched forward, only to fall back in agony when his arms flared up in pain. America wildly rolled his head back and saw that his wrists were bound tightly to the headboard by a thick rope. He flailed his legs and tested the strength of his bindings; they wouldn't budge, even though America was definitely one of the strongest people he knew. The only thing his struggling accomplished was chafing the skin on his wrists.

"I see you are finally awake, Amerika~" came a sing-songy voice to the left. The blonde craned his neck to see the blurry outline of Russia leaning over the bed. He must have taken off his overcoat and scarf, for he appeared to be wearing his beige military uniform. It bothered America that the scarf was missing—he'd given it back to him, right? Why wasn't Russia wearing it anymore?

The blond shook his head. _Not important._ He snarled at the figure looming over him. "What the hell are you tryin' to pull, commie?! Let me go right _now_!" He jolted against his bindings again, but it still had no effect.

The taller male shook his head. "Нет, we haven't even started yet… I have been waiting for you to wake up. It has been nearly three hours, sleepyhead!" Leaning forward, he traced the contours of the young male's cheekbones, causing the other's heart to cringe. "I must have given you more Ketamine* than I thought."

"Wha—what are you gonna do?" America cursed inwardly for stuttering; it showed Russia he was nervous, at the very least. He needed to look strong. "Are you gonna beat me 'till I can't walk anymore?" He scoffed, trying to cover the anxiety building up in the back of his throat.

Honestly, who _wouldn't _be unnerved by this situation? He was being held captive by _Russia, _for fuck's sake—the man carried an iron pipe everywhere like it was his security blanket!

_No. _America immediately dismissed his feelings and tried to calm down. _I'm not going to cry like a little baby. I'm not a kid anymore, and no amount of torture from this insane asshole is gonna make me crack. I'm not really sure what he wants, but I swear on my country that I'm not going to give in!_

Russia crawled onto the bed and sat on America's stomach, pressing his weight down and causing the other to wince from the pressure. "At first I was going to beat you senseless, perhaps even come close to killing you," he admitted matter-of-factly, "but I wanted to break you. I knew that big, _strong_ America would be too stubborn to submit to physical pain, Да?" He trailed his fingers down to the younger's collarbone and traced small circles into the skin.

America shivered from the contact. Okay, so maybe he felt a little—or a lot, at this point—intimidated by the man pinning him against the mattress. But no way in _hell_ was he going to show that. "Damn right I'm too stubborn! Go ahead and break my bones, but you'll never break my spirit!" He spat at his captor's face, blue eyes defiant and shining with resolve. "Go to hell!"

Russia reached up and swiped the saliva from his cheek with the back of his hand. He chuckled again and pressed two fingers harshly against America's throat, effectively closing off the windpipe. "Oh, little Amerika, you have no idea what I have in store for you…" He pressed harder and harder with the intentions of making a bruise. "I am going to break you down emotionally, allowing your pathetic blind courage to crumble into dust and see the cruel reality you are in. I will toy with you until you cannot tell left from right or up from down, and then you will be at the complete mercy of my hands. I will take your 'spirited' heart and scar it so that you will never be able to look in the mirror at yourself without cringing at the memory. By the time I am finished, you will be begging me with everything in you to _stop_."

America writhed under Russia's fingers, gasping like a fish out of water. His wrists twisted against the rope roughly and received angry red marks where the skin was starting to rub off. "Gngh…never…" he managed to utter, "What…could you pos…possibly do?!"

The towering nation leaned forward until their faces were merely inches apart. His voice dropped down to a low tone, barely above a whisper, as he stared down coldly into his struggling captive's eyes. He allowed a moment of complete silence, hot breath ghosting over skin, observing the young male below him as he squirmed uncomfortably.

"I am going to rape you." He released his fingers from the other's throat.

Alfred froze. His eyes were still interlocked with his captor's, but now they resembled those of a deer caught in headlights. He started to cough violently as his throat was released, but even as his lungs were relieved, he felt a new danger, an animal he had never encountered before. "You…you…I—"

America was silenced as Russia pressed their lips together, fisting his wheat-blonde hair and tugging roughly on it. He cried out in surprise and immediately started twisting and thrashing around in a desperate attempt to break away. Russia took this opportunity to slip his tongue down the other's throat, plunging it for all it was worth and tasting every corner and crevice. Feeling America's legs kick out in anguish, he slid down and pressed his body weight on the blonde's hips, further inhibiting his movements.

America's blood pounded through his veins, his adrenaline spiking to a high he didn't know was possible. After the initial shock passed, he wrenched his head to the side in an attempt to separate Russia's mouth from his.

"You can't do this!" he choked as Russia playfully nipped at his ear and throat, "Someone outside will hear me, they'll hear us!"

Russia smirked, licking America's cheek and relishing in the shiver that coursed through his body. "Нет, nobody is on this floor, and nobody will disturb us. I made sure of that beforehand."

_Shit! _America shook his head, frantically searching for another reason. _Wait, the other countries!_

"…Then I'll-I'll tell everyone at the conference what … what happened…They'll fucking murder you!"

Russia's smirk widened. "Will you? Your pride would never allow it…" He grinded against America's body, moaning softly at the wonderful friction it caused.

It was hot in here. So, so hot. America felt like he was suffocating. He couldn't move, couldn't think straight. Russia was quickly taking control, biting and licking and sucking and _restricting _to the point where America felt like his body was about to combust.

He hated this so much. He was being violated,and he was too weak to do anything—he couldn't push the other away or even break free from his bindings. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he had been gullible enough to fall into this trap. Maybe everyone really _was_ right by calling him an idiot all the time!

America had become hypersensitive, and every touch spurred an electric current that raged throughout him. He cried out in sheer frustration, muscles tightening at every point in his body as he kicked and flailed futilely. Russia, in turn, smiled wider and dove in for the younger male's lips.

America gasped at the sensation of his mouth being invaded again, and his throbbing heart jumped each time the towering nation grinded against his body. His frame shook, a sheen of perspiration collecting on his forehead.

He had never done this before, not once in the nearly 200 years he had existed…

From day one, America had promised himself that he would put his country first and not be held back by "sexual urges" or things of the like; he pressed on, always working hard to grow stronger and bigger and keep his people free. Not to mention England had raised him to be a 'good boy', so to speak, and even though he ended up defying his mentor and breaking away, America still abided by many of his teachings. America had fought through many bloody wars, suffered greatly, and come out victorious, but at the same time he had just as much experience with sex as that of a twelve-year-old.

And so when Russia started doing all these ministrations, the flustered nation couldn't help it when a certain tightness in his nether regions made itself known.

"Enjoying yourself, Amerika?" Russia teased, rolling his hips torturously slow and causing the other to whine.

America flushed a deep red and spat out curses. _Why is my body reacting like this?! I'm not turned on! I'm not! _"I hate you…" he breathed.

Russia gripped the younger's jaw, forcing him to stare into his amused yet calculating eyes as he reached with his free hand off to the side. America glared back but squeezed his lids shut when another thrust was issued. He felt so trapped.

A cold, smooth object was suddenly pressed against America's cheek and slid down to just below his navel. His eyes instantly flew back open in shock. Russia was caressing a long silver blade against his lower stomach, lightly dragging the metal across his skin. He didn't do it hard enough to release blood, but the sight made America feel nauseous.

If Russia felt like it, he could repeatedly stab him to death. Right now. And America could do nothing to stop him.

To the young male's slight relief, however, that didn't happen. Instead his captor glazed the blade across a few more times before slipping it under the blond's military shirt. He tugged the weapon up, ripping the seams of the shirt with a frightening precision. Once the material had been torn in half, Russia tugged it off to reveal the other's chest, now glistening with a nervous sweat. He tossed the knife off to the side and took a moment to admire his work.

America cringed under the Russian's considering gaze. His breaths and heartbeat had become panicked, and his gleaming chest rose and fell in short, uneven rhythms. He attempted to swallow the huge knot in his throat as he eyed his captor, not wanting to know what would happen next but at the same time untrusting to look away.

"That is strange…" Russia suddenly voiced, taking both hands and smoothing them over America's chest and abdomen. He explored the skin with a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

Despite how hot it was, America felt a wave of goosebumps ripple down his neck and back. "What is?" He demanded uneasily.

One of Russia's large hands paused over his lower stomach. "Nothing; it just seems you are not as fat as everyone always says." He trickled his fingers up to the younger's nipple and gave it a soft rub until it hardened. He switched nipples, teasing and pinching lightly with one hand and sliding the other down America's front.

America growled at the comment and strained once more against his ropes. He was now more upset than ever. Russia was being so easygoing, so _casual _about abusing him like this. He was treating and talking to America as if they were discussing the weather, not like he was in the middle of violating him!

Through his disbelief of it all, though, a small part of Alfred's mind felt smug at the confirmation that he was indeed _not_ fat. _Take that, stupid England, _it wanted to say.

But when Russia pressed their hips together again and played with his nubs, it shattered the young nation's train of thought. He involuntary moaned, toes curling at the sensation.

His insides were screaming at him not to submit to the physical feelings. This was wrong, so so _wrong _on so many levels, but at the same time it felt so _good_. America felt betrayed not only by the man above him, but also by his own body. How could it be giving in so quickly, so _willingly_, when at the same time his mind was so full of utter disgust and horror?

Russia took the American off guard when he slid his hand beneath the other's waistband. His fingers wrapped around the younger's erection and thumbed the sensitive slit, lazily pumping the shaft a few times to further arouse his captive.

America shuddered at the touch, inhaling sharply. "Nngh…Fuck...Let go of Florida!"

_I can't let him do this, I can't… _He kicked his legs in hopes that he could pull himself away from the other's hold. His muscles felt like jelly, though, and did next to nothing. America whined, partially because he was frustrated and scared and unable to move, and partially because—and he didn't want to admit it—those fingers were making him _melt_.

As he continued to stimulate the other nation, Russia inclined his neck and pressed his forehead against America's. He pierced his frigid violet eyes into the blond's half-lidded blues, observing with amusement how he flinched and gasped at every movement. The towering man grazed his teeth over America's bottom lip, making the other quickly slam his mouth shut.

Russia smiled at the act of defiance. He stroked harder and breathed hot air over the younger's ear. "Are you having fun yet?" he asked.

"Shu…Shut up!" America's mind was a mess. He was wracking his brain for ideas to escape, but he found he couldn't focus on anything for long. With Russia flush against him like this, kissing and rubbing and palming him sensually… His eyes glanced at his surroundings, frantically searching for anything that might be of use. But his vision was blurry with no glasses, and he couldn't see much of anything past the bed. He looked up desperately, once again twisting his abused wrists in an attempt to break free. _If I can just keep at this, maybe I-I…_

Russia, who was currently exploring the inner crevices of the blond's neck, chuckled when he saw the other struggling with his bonds again. He squeezed America's shaft lightly and relished in the submissive reaction it caused.

Alfred shut his eyes tight when he let another accidental whine escape. He heard the man above him groan in approval, invading his mouth again and stroking faster. _That feels so good—No, wait, no! I can't let this happen! I am America! I can't let myself be dominated by this asshole, this commie—_

The young nation tried his best to block out everything—the sounds of skin touching hot skin and the bed springs creaking under their weight; the feeling of his cock in the others' skilled hand and tongue twirling in his mouth, the heat that seemed to lock him in a chokehold embrace and muddle his thoughts…

He needed to get out. He needed to get out of here before he lost his final shreds of pride, and before he lost his…his virginity.

_Focus, Al, focus! _America felt the ropes burning his skin as he twisted and strained against them. He knew his wrists were starting to bleed; he still persisted, with each second adding more and more effort. _You've been through much, much worse than this! You've pulled yourself through tons of wars, been shot twice in the shoulder, dammit! He's just trying to mess with your mind! This is real easy—you can get out of this just fine, it's just taking a little longer than…than usual…_

_Oh. Oh god. _Russia was unbuckling his belt.

"Hmm. I think we've messed around long enough, Да~?" He smiled that oh-so-_innocent _smile, although his eyes told a very different story.

America felt his heart clench at the thought of what would soon happen if things stayed this way. He thrashed his arms with renewed force, watching in horror as the other nation unzipped himself and released his own throbbing erection. Grabbing the flustered American's hips, Russia pulled back and attempted to slide off the young male's military pants.

America resisted and shot his legs out with the remaining energy he had. By sheer force of luck he managed to land a hit square in the other's chest; Russia surprisingly coughed as the wind was knocked out of him. The blond took a split second to breathe, and then with the combination of his freed upper body and rushing adrenaline, he pulled with all of his strength.

The rope snapped. America's wrists were still tied together, but now he had been separated from the headboard. "Finally!" he gasped out in relief. He swung his hands forward blindly in an attempt to land another hit, hopefully on that bastard's face. Due to the absence of his Texas, however, America completely missed his target area, instead making a clumsily aimed hit on his attacker's shoulder.

Russia quickly recovered from the previous kick and pounced back on the American just as his shoulder was grazed. He roughly grabbed the sore wrists, pinning them back up against the headboard at an awkward angle as he pressed his weight on the other's body.

He shook his head in disapproval. "Oh Amerika, I had originally intended to make this experience very pleasurable for you, to make you humiliated at the fact that you were enjoying it." He loomed again over the recaptured nation, not quite seething with anger, but instead emitting a powerful aura that one could truly call terrifying. He shoved the blond's pants to his knees and slid his length eagerly, heatedly, over the other's entrance. "But now, I think I just want to make you _hurt_. I want you to _feel_ what's happening to you."

The American's eyes widened at the feeling of Russia's cock rubbing against his backside. _No! _In a last-ditch effort, he wildly struggled, kicked, screamed, pleaded—_anything _to prevent this from happening.

He couldn't do this! Not now, not here, and not in this way! "No…no, no, no! No! Please stop it! _Please_! Ivan, I'm begging you,_ stop! STOP!_"

Alfred wasn't exactly sure when the tears started falling.

It might have been the agonizing moment Russia pushed inside him, painfully ripping away both his innocence and dignity; maybe it was when the huge man started moving, forcing himself in and out with such a brutality and shamelessness that no person with a heart would be capable of doing;

Or perhaps it was even after Russia had spent himself and they both lay there in silence, America shaking and his throat raw from the screaming, Russia still inside his victim and relaxing on top of him in his afterglow.

The damage had been done.

And even as America was finally allowed to leave, stumbling out of the building in a different shirt with Texas on his nose and bomber jacket on his shoulders, he couldn't clear his mind. It was polluted with thoughts of Russia—of Russia touching him, Russia invading his mouth, Russia controlling his emotions…

…And Russia _hurting _him in a way no person had before.

Alfred F. Jones took a deep, ragged breath before climbing into his car and speeding straight to England's home. When he arrived there, he didn't say anything—just collapsed into his former mentor's arms and broke down into a mess of silent tears and trembles. England stood there in shock, rubbing small circles into the hysterical boy's back and at a complete loss for words. He wasn't sure what had happened. He suspected Russia had something to do with it, although he knew better than to try to coax the answer out of America right now. But whatever it was, he knew it had been something utterly terrible.

Meanwhile, Ivan Braginsky sat back in his hotel bed, cold amethyst eyes staring at the door as he toyed with the grey scarf entwined in his hands.

He had rather enjoyed that, he decided.

_x_

* * *

_**To be Continued in part 3...**_

**Translations (in order of appearance): **

Нет = Nyet= No

Да=Da=Yes

**A/N*: **If you didn't know already, Ketamine is one of the most commonly used/abused date-rape drugs. It causes loss of coordination and perception, anxiety/panic attacks, loss of consciousness, and many other bad side effects.

**OKAY! So this was the first time I've ever written something this explicit. It was an experiment, in a way; I wanted to test my ability to really get into America's head and make the scene as graphically detailed as possible. I also wanted to make Russia seem terrifyingly powerful. Did I succeed, or is it just awkward and I totally failed? Only you can tell me! I REALLY LOVE REVIEWS.**

**Did I mention this pairing is my OTP? I am planning on writing more of these two in the future, albeit perhaps not where they hate each other so much. -_-' Of course, I first have to finish my PewdieCry story before I start any more new projects!**

**But for now, hasta la pasta until I finish part 3! Thanks for reading~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Heh, sorry for the long wait. You have my permission to deny me any and all chocolate-chip cookies you happen to encounter today. Dx Seriously, though, I really dunno why this update took so long… I was really dissatisfied with the way a lot of parts turned out and must have edited 'em ten gazillion times before finally deeming this thing good enough for you readers. =_= It sucks being a perfectionist sometimes, y'know? And writing abstract stuff can be really difficult.**

**Thanks to blueorgray1236, katesmak, DM-sama, LittleMonsterStick, Easter142, asdfmawesome2, and all of the anons who reviewed last chapter! *hugs***

**Anyways, enjoy the chapter~!**

_**To Strangle a Heart, part 3**_

* * *

_x_

_I really don't wanna be here… _America kept his eyes glued to the floor as he grudgingly dragged himself into the conference building.

He had been avoiding any and all human contact this past week. Usually when the world's leaders gathered together like this, he would be out partying and having fun with his fellow nations during the breaks in between meetings. But instead of doing that, Alfred had been cooping himself up in his hotel room, not answering the worried phone calls from Canada, Japan, France, or even England—not anyone, for that matter. He'd made it a point to completely isolate himself, so as to ensure he'd avoid having to face certain _people_.

But the day of the scheduled meeting eventually came, and despite wanting to curl up in bed all day and pretend like he was actually getting some sleep, America knew he had duties to fulfill as a nation. He wasn't going to let down the millions of people depending on him to, at the very least, attend the conference. So as much as he didn't want to, he forced himself out of the warm covers and haphazardly got ready.

Now he was here, standing in front of the giant double-doors. His hair was slightly tousled, his clothes in disarray, and his eyes bruised from lack of sleep, but he was in fact _here_. America tried his best to avoid the blatant stares and quiet whispers behind his back when he crossed the room. Honestly, he wasn't that surprised about the other nations' reactions to his appearance; under normal circumstances, he would be talking a mile a minute about the wonderful taste of hamburgers and his super heroicness and the latest horror video game that most certainly did _not _make him pee his pants.

…But this situation was far from anything "normal". And he really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, so instead of socializing, America took a seat at the conference table. He lay his head down on the cherry-colored wood. _I'm so tired…_

Just then Germany loudly cleared his throat to grab everyone's attention. As he did this, he shot an uneasy glance towards the distraught American before looking out into the general crowd. "Um…Okay, I believe it would be a good idea to start in a minute or so. Everyone sit down."

America looked up tiredly at the other blond, thoroughly disinterested. Sure, he had forced himself to crawl out of bed and attend this thing, but now that he was here he was becoming less and less motivated to pay any sort of attention. It wasn't like he listened much in the first place; now with all that had happened, it just seemed so damn _exhausting._

America laid his head back on the table, nuzzling his face into the crook of his elbow. He sighed, wishing he had just stayed in bed today.

A hand on his shoulder. "Ameri—"

"_NO!_" Alfred jolted upright at the touch. Before he knew it he had his fist tightly clenched in a ball and his arm raised, ready to punch. _Stay away from me!_

He wasn't going to let himself be touched again by those filthy hands, or have his thoughts and emotions manipulated and crushed until he couldn't think straight, or let those shallow violet eyes roam all over every square inch of his body like he was some kind of _eye candy_—

"—Gah! I'm…sorry, America, I didn't mean to frighten you—I just wanted to ask how you were doing. Are you feeling better now?"

However, this was not the person America had been expecting to see; England stood in front of him, looking thoroughly shocked by such a hostile display.

America lowered his fist, looking to the side awkwardly. He didn't answer the question and stayed silent, willing his heart to slow its erratic beating. _It's okay, Al, it's just Arthur… Nothing to stress over. It's okay, you're okay…_

When America didn't respond, the British man precariously settled into the chair to the right of the taller blond. "…You know, I've been calling you all week and you haven't answered once. And from what Canadi—I mean, _Canada_—said, you haven't left your hotel room since last Tuesday night. You're really starting to worry me, you know. I mean, I had assumed you'd gotten over whatever was troubling you last week, but now I'm starting to wonder if that's not the case."

_Ugh…Dammit, I don't wanna talk about this… _America groaned, burying his face back into his arms. This was the first time the two had spoken ever since _it _happened, and already America was feeling uncomfortable. "'M fine, dude," he mumbled.

He couldn't tell England what had happened that night—scratch that, he couldn't tell _anyone _what had happened that night. Right after _it _ended, America had gone straight to the Brit's house in search of a shoulder to cry on, a pair of warm arms to hold and soothe him as those terrible events replayed over and over in his mind like a scratched record. But as soon as America was able to compose himself—meaning his eyes had somewhat dried, and he could walk ten steps without collapsing to the floor—he had left immediately and gone straight home. He hadn't said a word to the other nation the entire time, and he avoided all eye contact when he had slipped out the front door.

No matter how much it hurt to keep _it_ a secret, America knew deep down that he couldn't confess... This wasn't just some random topic about the weather or what's going on or even his country's economic problems; no, this was too personal. The magnitude of the things that had happened was so overbearing that America, supposed superpower and hero of the world, was being suffocated by it.

He had been no less than wholly dominated by his rival and enemy, rendered completely helpless as his weaknesses were exposed… How could anyone expect Alfred to tell?

And yet here Arthur was, asking him to do exactly that. America couldn't see the other's face at the moment due to resting his head in his arms, but he did hear an exasperated sigh. "You're 'fine'? …Are you absolutely sure about that?"

"Mmm."

"Don't lie, Alfred…" America felt his forearm being jostled. He lazily swatted at the other's hand, lifting his heavy head up with much effort and catching England's eye.

"I'm not! I'm just a little tired, is all… Don't worry 'bout me." To further prove his point, America allowed a giant yawn to escape his lips as he opened his suitcase and pulled out note papers. He wasn't completely lying; he actually _was _beyond exhausted. But that wasn't the root of the problem, and both he and England knew that.

England shook his head, clearly not satisfied with the answer. His normally stubborn features softened as he continued to stare at the dejected young nation. "Right, well…when you want to talk about whatever has been troubling you… Erm…Just know that I will be there to listen." With that the shorter blond turned his head to the front of the table, where Germany was waiting for everyone to quiet down.

Said person's eyes quickly scanned the group before him, once again lingering a split second longer on the American. He shook his head and looked up. "All right, it seems that everyone is situated. As you all know this meeting was cut short last week, so let us pick up where we left off…"

America tried his best to pay attention to what Germany was saying—something about European trade or whatever—but he quickly lost interest, his attention span ten times shorter than last week. The young male debated whether or not he should doodle on the table again, but decided against it when he recalled that England was sitting right next to him and would notice almost immediately. Not to mention America felt as if his arm would fall off the moment he picked up his pencil.

He groaned internally, wishing he could just fall asleep here. Of course, the blond knew that the second he did so, the other countries would either snicker or start to complain about it. Then when it became disruptive to the meeting, England, Germany, or even China would come over and reprimand, thus completely ridiculing him in front of, quite literally, the entire world. And after all of that, America would have to face the wrath of his boss.

_Yeah, _not_ a good idea, _he concluded. _But still…Tired…So tired._

Maybe it would be okay if he rested his eyes for just a minute. That couldn't do any harm, right? America leaned forward in his chair and threaded his fingers through his blond locks. He yawned again, scooting his body closer to the table before laying his head in his arms. His eyes peeked out from under his messy bangs, each second losing more and more willpower to stay open. _It'll only be for a couple seconds…No one will notice._

Just as America's lids were about to flutter shut, he suddenly felt a cold chill run down his spine. He sat up in shock and wondered what was setting off the alarms in his head. The uncomfortable feeling spread to the tips of his toes and circled back around to rest in the cavity of his chest, tightening its hold on his rapidly beating heart. America blanched at the feeling, realization playing across his features.

_He's watching me._

_He_, who had somehow managed to claim the seat directly across from Alfred, was staring at the blond with a spark of amusement in his wintry eye. He fingered the long scarf wrapped around his neck, slowly smoothing the soft material between the pads of his fingers as he observed how the American fidgeted in his seat.

And he was smiling. He was smiling that seemingly innocent facade, and it was utterly terrifying.

America clenched his fists so tight that he felt his nails break the skin of his palm. In turn, Russia continued to lazily stroke the scarf, ever so gently caressing the material as he nuzzled it against his cheek. Much to the other's horror, he then slid his tongue out of his mouth and slowly rolled it across his bottom lip. He grazed his teeth against the flesh thoughtfully, as if he was at a café trying to pick what flavor ice cream to buy.

America's throat constricted into a huge, painful lump. _He's…he…oh god, doesn't anyone else see this? _The young nation tore his eyes from the sight and desperately scanned the room.

It seemed everyone was too intent on taking notes to notice what was happening; it was either that, or they didn't think anything of it. America's eyes flicked over to England, who also had his full attention on the German at the head of the table. He was blissfully unaware of the situation happening _right in front of him_.

_Shit. Shit! _America clenched his fists again and winced when the cuts from his fingernails were aggravated. He swallowed hard in an attempt to ease the tension building up in his throat. _If I cause a scene, people are gonna ask questions, questions I can't answer…_

America looked back at the Russian just in time to see the man's pencil eraser disappear into his mouth. The tall nation ever so subtly swirled his tongue around the wood, taking care to affectionately nibble on the tip a couple of times. He allowed the pink appendage to linger for a moment before pushing the pencil nearly halfway into his mouth. He kept direct eye contact with the flustered blond, those dark amethysts burning away at the layers of skin and unabashedly staring right into Alfred's soul.

_No. _America felt his stomach churn at the sight. _He's teasing me, he's trying to get into my head!...I can't let him do this. Not again. No! _The knot in his throat seemed to tighten each second those piercing eyes burned into his own. Russia sped up a bit, a tiny dribble of saliva connecting the end of the pencil to his lips when he pulled it out completely. He then shoved it back in again, this time with more force. The oppressive look in his eyes pushed away the rest of the world until the only things that existed were him and his American.

_Stop it. Stop! I can't breathe, I can't breathe—_Alfred's lungs, devoid of oxygen, were collapsing in on themselves. He clutched at the front of his shirt, trying to suppress the tremors wracking through his chest. _No, no no no!…_His vision suddenly turned blurry, and he blinked rapidly but the tears wouldn't go away and now he could feel the bile creeping up in his throat—

"Nnngh!" America lurched out of his chair, a hand wildly clamped over his mouth. He flipped around and rushed out into the hallway, nearly tripping over his own ankle as he clumsily stumbled into the restroom a few doors down. He barely registered the sound of voices in the conference room rising behind him; the thought left his mind the second it came.

The young blond collapsed to his knees in an open stall and wasted no time before violently retching out the saliva pooled in the back of his throat. He coughed and gagged from the fiery sensation in his esophagus, despite the fact that the contents of his unusually small breakfast—a piece of toast and a cup of coffee—didn't come spilling out. He breathed raggedly, accidentally inhaling some of the fluid and thus provoking another coughing fit. The world dove into a trembling, blurry mess of awful taste, aching limbs, and memories so vivid and fresh that the boy's brain could be comparable to a pile of scrambled eggs.

"_**Are you having fun yet?"**_

_Stop it! _America curled in on himself, gasping out at the sheer rawness of his flashbacks. _Stop, please let me go! I can't do this! _

He needed to forget it all, forget every scarring sound, every horrified emotion, every traumatizing sight displayed before his eyes—

"_**I want you to **_**feel **_**what's happening to you."**_

—every burning touch on his lips, on his neck, his chest, his navel, his—

"_**You are so warm inside, Amerika…like a thick blanket shielding me from the cold of the Siberian метель…"**_

Alfred was lightheaded. So, so lightheaded… Everything turned numb, as if all the nerves in his body had been shut down by a power outage. He swooned backwards, head cracking against something cold and hard as he stared up at the white ceiling that was quickly fading to black...

_x_

* * *

_x_

…

…

…

"…ed…lea…ke u…"

_...Huh… _America was at first puzzled by the muffled noises reaching through the encompassing shell of darkness. It had felt so nice to just exist, to not have to think or do or feel or worry…He had been floating in the nameless void for some time, not quite sure how long, considering time did not exist here.

But these new sounds did exist—they were real, and it didn't make any sense in the depths of unconsciousness.

"…I w…ose...ou!..." _A voice? Who's talking… _He groaned softly, straining to understand the swirl of dim colors flashing behind his closed lids. Curious now, Alfred fought against the dark nothing's hold over him. With enough effort, the unfeeling began retreating to the deepest corners of his being, all the while allowing his senses to strengthen as he became more aware.

"Ca…ear me?...ay…omethin…Alfred… For the love of all that is right and civilized, _please _say something!"

_That's… _America slightly opened his heavy lids, blinking a few times to clear away the excess moisture. "Eng…land?" he croaked, recognizing the refined language of the greenish blur of a person before him.

Said blur suddenly got much closer, and America was confused until he realized that the other nation had him wrapped in an embrace. "Oh, thank goodness! I'm so glad you're okay now. You had us all sweating for a while there, you know… Bloody hell, I was afraid we'd have to call an ambulance."

America was suddenly aware of the fact that he was lying on his back on a mattress, and that the back of his head was rhythmically throbbing with pain. "What…happened?"

England pulled away and went off to the side somewhere. America was about to ask where he was going when the cool metal frames of Texas were slid onto his nose. "Well, you suddenly ran out in the middle of the conference looking like you were about to vomit. When you reached the restrooms, it seems you hit your head and passed out in one of the stalls. …I knew you weren't feeling well, but neither I nor anyone else had a clue that your condition was so bad. What were you _thinking_ attending this meeting? It's not good to exert yourself like this when you're so ill, America..." England ran a shaky hand through his hair, looking as if he had just been through hell.

America looked at his environment. He was lying on a twin-sized bed in a small room decorated with several black furniture pieces. The space was somewhat dark, but there was a small window opposite the door to the hallway letting in some natural light. From what America could tell, it still appeared to be early afternoon.

"How long was I out?" he asked, glancing towards the window. He fidgeted with the warm red comforter draped over his body.

"Scarcely five minutes. When we all found you, we knew couldn't just leave you lying on the floor, so Russia volunteered to carry you to one of the spare rooms. I would have done it myself, but you're not a kid anymore. You're a lot heavier than I remember."

America sat up, ignoring the protesting throb from the back of his head. "Wait, Russia _carried _me?" He was completely awake now.

England nodded, brow furrowing slightly as if he was unsettled by this information. "Odd, isn't it? We all thought he wouldn't want to help, considering how things are between you two nowadays. It was quite the surprise, really...Quite the surprise."

_Help? He didn't want to help; he just wanted to touch me again, that…that bastard! _America gripped the front of his shirt as if to prevent his heart from jumping out of his ribcage. He felt sick all over again.

Russia had touched him while he was sleeping. He could have done anything he wanted, used America's body for himself ten times over … And America would never know!

In hindsight this was a ridiculous thought, because obviously the other nations had been present too, and they wouldn't allow that type of foul play—any foul play, for that matter—to happen. But still, the thought was very upsetting. "Y-yeah," America somehow managed to sputter, turning away to hide the look of utter terror on his face.

Apparently England didn't notice anything, because he then straightened up and paced towards the door. "In any case, it's good to know you didn't kill yourself. You may be an obnoxious, migraine-inducing fatass, but… I still care about you, dammit." He quickly turned his head and coughed, but not before the American noticed the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks. "Yes, well, anyways, I must go tell the others in the hall that you've regained consciousness before someone does something reckless. I mean, when I shooed everyone out of this room they were basically in hysterics—Mattie even looked like he was about to cry... Now, rest up. I will come back here later to check and ensure that your concussion has healed properly*."

America lethargically nodded and carefully lowered his head back onto the pillow. As Arthur closed the door behind himself, the young blond allowed his weary eyes to shut. He realized, once again, just how exhausted he really was.

"Oh, and America?" The door made a sound as it was creaked open a few inches.

"…Yeah?"

A short pause. "Whatever happened last Tuesday has been slowly eating away at you, and it's just killing me to see you in such a state. Even if all you need is someone in whom you can confide… I promise you, I am going to help." A quiet "click" resonated as the door was closed shut again.

Alfred, too tired to protest, simply let out a grunt as he shifted his position under the covers. He _really _wasn't looking forward to that conversation…

And yet, at the same time he could feel that small part deep inside of him silently crying out for exactly what England was offering.

Did he want help? What would England think if and when he found out America had been raped—such a horrible_, terrifying_ word—by none other than _Russia_? Would he be angry? Unbelieving? Would he be so overwhelmingly disgusted that he could never again look America in the face without cringing? Would he think Alfred was weak for letting ithappen?

_But it's true; I _am_ weak. I'm so weak I can't even suck it up for one goddamn conference. I'm not a hero. I'm not one at all..._

So many thoughts ran through America's head as he uneasily drifted off into a desperately-needed sleep. Soon enough, however, the darkness embraced him and was quick to banish any unpleasantness that tried to creep through.

Alfred slept peacefully for the first time in a week. There was no spontaneous crying out, or uncontrolled trembling, or bolting up in the middle of the night to lock himself in the bathroom and breathe and remind himself that it _wasn't _real, it was just another nightmare... No, this time he dreamt of pure nothing, and it was absolute, blissful relief.

And so when Alfred suddenly felt a warm but slightly uncomfortable pressure on his chest, he wasn't sure how to respond. The pressure didn't go away when he shifted, but instead spread further, all the way down to his lower torso. It became even more confusing when the air over his lips and throat suddenly got hot and significantly damper. What was this? It didn't make sense.

Alfred wasn't really sure when he'd stopped sleeping, but now he was curious as to what was causing this strange phenomenon. He lazily opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Most of everything was a blurry mess, and had he been more observant Alfred would have wondered when his glasses had fallen off.

But then he looked up, and the world suddenly sharpened to a crystal clear. Right in his face, so close that he nearly had to cross his eyes to focus, were two frigid, swirling amethysts and a face that froze his heart to a complete stop.

"Привет, Amerika. You look cute when you sleep, да~?"

_x_

* * *

_**To be Continued in part 4**_

**Translations (in order of appearance):**

Метель= mee-tyel'= snowstorm/blizzard (anyone who actually speaks Russian, please tell me if this is incorrect…thanks xD)

Привет = Privyet = hello/hi

Да = da = yes

**A/N*: **Obviously it doesn't take less than a day for a concussion to pass. However, the personified nations heal at a much faster rate than that of a normal person (and I like to think that the stronger the nation, the faster he/she heals). Just wanted to clear that up in case anyone got confused! *thumbs up*

**Dun Dun DUNNN. Evil cliffhanger! America's just not having a good day, is he? xC Unfortunately this ain't over yet, dear readers.**

**Also, can someone please explain to me why I'm writing a fic about torturing my own country? IT MAKES NONE OF THE SENSES. (/**ಠ**_**ಠ**)/**

**Remember, reviews are to me like burgers are to Alfred. For reals, yo. xDD Thanks again, and until next time, peace out, dudes~**


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